


Broken and Bruised

by heffermonkey



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherhood, Community: 1_million_words, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Slash, Male Bonding, Pre-Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heffermonkey/pseuds/heffermonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan is inviting a lot of trouble upon himself.  After witnessing another brawl, Athos tries to get to the bottom of what is haunting the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken and Bruised

"What was that about?" Athos asked, looking down at d'Artagnan who sat in a puddle of mud nursing a broken lip and his wounded pride with a face of thunder.

"Nothing," d'Artagnan replied under his breath, climbing to his feet, declining the offer as Athos held out a hand of help.

"That's the third brawl you've been in today," Athos pointed out to him, like d'Artagnan wasn't aware of the fights. This first two he'd fared better in, but this third had occurred with a large brute who'd quite likely only be felled by an anvil to the head.

"So?" d'Artagnan said, giving him a scowl. "What of it?"

Athos looked at him carefully. They were just getting to know one another and he knew d'Artagnan was eager to prove himself, but being hot headed with strangers seemed uncharacteristic. Then again, their meeting had been because d'Artagnan thought he'd murdered his father and had started the fight full of fury and revenge. Athos thought further on the matter, beginning to understand the reasons for the man's actions and behaviour.

"You should go and rest," Athos advised. D'Artagnan was still mourning and grief did strange things to a person. He hadn't learned how to assimilate those feelings into something less painful to carry around inside. He would in time, but right now, with the fresh memories of his fathers sudden passing, he was a barrel of gunpowder ready to explode.

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan replied with a shake of his head. He was thick with mud, blood was congealing on his lip and there was a tiredness in his eyes. Evidence of exhaustion, Athos didn't doubt the man's sleep was broken with grief.

"Go home," Athos insisted, giving him a small push to encourage him on his way.

"Home? What home?" d'Artagnan snapped angrily, pushing him harder back. 

Athos realised his words had been wrongly chosen and regretted them, feeling a thread of irritation at the push d'Artagnan gave him. The man wanted a fight but he was choosing the wrong opponent in Athos. They were alone in the street, the other brawler had gone and the few witnesses with him. Night was falling and they were meant to be meeting Porthos and Aramis for food and drinks at an inn Aramis favoured for it's women.

"Do no pick your fight with me," Athos warned, pushing d'Artagnan back harder. "I'm one of the few friends you have here remember? Choose your enemies wisely."

d'Artagnan gave a small smirk of derision and rolled his eyes. "You are not my friend."

Athos felt a small sting at that comment, though he understood it was made from a point of hurt and pain in d'Artagnan. He was a long way from home and family. In fact Athos didn't know if d'Artagnan had anybody left now his father was dead. They still had a lot to learn about one another. But there was something about him that made him fit in with the brotherhood of musketeers. None of them knew how or why, but Aramis, Porthos and himself had gravitated to one another and worked well together in such a way that a friendship and trust had simply been born and nurtured naturally. d'Artagnan slotted in like a part of them they hadn't realised was missing.

Athos gave d'Artagnan a hard shove and watched him lose his balance, knocked back a few paces until he landed half standing against a wall. Athos closed the gap, a hand on his chest, the other gripping d'Artagnan's wrist as he drew a fist up for a fight.

"You want to fight me we'll do so tomorrow," Athos informed him. "When you're in better shape, at least then it will feel like a fair victory when I knock you flat on your back."

"Let go," d'Artagnan insisted, finding his feet, body pressing back against Athos, a coiled spring of anger and muted pride.

"Will you go home?" Athos questioned.

d'Artagnan pressed his lips together stubbornly.

"Will you go back to Bonacieux's?" Athos said instead, chiding himself for his words again.

"Eventually," d'Artagnan replied, relaxing a little under his weight.

"Still looking for a fight?" Athos asked, eyeing his swelling lip. "How many men will it take for you to beat and be beaten by before this is over?"

"Let go of me and perhaps you will find out," d'Artagnan replied cooly.

Athos didn't let go and wondered how he was meant to help this man. Perhaps sending him to his lodgings alone wasn't the right thing to do. At least at the inn he could keep any eye on him and make Aramis and Porthos aware of his frame of mind currently. They'd understand, they might even be able to help.

"We're late meeting Aramis and Porthos," Athos said, stepping back and letting him go. "We should hurry or they'll worry."

He meant it to break the ice, a bit of humour to deflect the tension. But he didn't have time to smile as d'Artagnan's fist met his jaw and his face whipped to the side with a crunch. He lost his footing and side stepped but kept his balance, enough to reel up and deflect d'Artagnan's fist a second time.

"Forgive me," He said under his breath as he landed a punch to d'Artagnan's stomach and dealt him a hard blow on the side of his head with the handle of his musket. D'Artagnan dropped to his knees like a sack of potatoes, Athos knelt quickly to catch him before he ended up with a face full of dirt again.

~

As he trudged towards his lodgings Athos was feeling rather disgusted with himself for allowing himself to be caught so easily. His jaw hurt and felt bruised, furthermore his back hurt and his legs were tiring, d'Artagnan wasn't a light for such a slight and slender man. But Athos could count his blessing it wasn't Porthos he had to transport. He and Aramis had tried that once and even between them the brute had been a beast to carry, especially when unconscious from the drink.

Finally he got to his home, a small dwelling consisting of only a few rooms. Nothing compared to the grandeur he'd once enjoyed, albeit part of him enjoyed the simpler life he'd chosen. He dropped d'Artagnan to the bed and let him flop to the straw mattress like a ragdoll. He looked down at him wryly, even unconscious, a frown twisted on his brow, memories of his subconscious evident on his face. Athos pondered on why some people seemed to go through life with no problems or worries while others, like himself, like d'Artagnan, had to suffer miseries of losing those you loved in hard, bitter circumstances.

He hadn't seen his own parents in many years, but he corresponded with them enough to know everything was all right at home. He had the enjoyment of knowing they were living moderately, in the peace of the countryside with little to worry them. Athos left d'Artagnan where he'd dumped him, pondering on leaving him to meet Aramis and Porthos, he was hungry but had no food in the place. A half filled bottle of cheap wine from the market was all he had to offer his guest when he eventually woke up. Perhaps d'Artagnan would be in better spirits then, or perhaps not. Athos didn't doubt he'd have a sore head from where he'd hit him, but he chased away the guilt of causing the pain. D'Artagnan had started the fight in the first place and he had warned him of such folly.

He lit some candles and picked up a small book he thumbed through when particularly bored. His stomach growled, hunger gnawing at his insides. It had been a long day and he was weary but d'Artagnan currently resided on his bed. He was engrossed in the middle of a chapter when a moan emanated from the corner and he glanced up to see d'Artagnan trying to rise, a hand on his head as he winced at the movement. Athos set the book aside and stood up, cautious and wary that there still fight left in him, despite his current predicament.

He poured him a goblet of wine and carried it over to him, holding it out at arms length. 

"Here, drink this," Athos told him. D'Artagnan took it, swallowing down a mouthful and grimacing. Athos had to agree, the wine was disgusting on the palette but what did one expect for cheap market liquor? "How do you feel?"

"Did you have to hit me quite so hard?" d'Artagnan asked bitterly, rubbing a hand on the back of his head.

"I did warn you," Athos pointed out. "You didn't leave me much choice. It was either that or get into a worse situation and as I also told you, it wouldn't have been a fair fight. I'm beginning to get used to your company, it would be a shame for it to come to an end so quickly."

"Don't see why you care so much," d'Artagnan remarked, looking around the room. "Is this where you live?"

Athos smirked at the derision in his face. He'd lived in worse places and he'd lived in better. He didn't really care where he lay his head these days.

"My apologies that it doesn't come with a matron like Madam Bonacieux 's to see to your every need," Athos said dryly. "If you want to eat, we'll have to go to a tavern. I doubt Porthos and Aramis will have waited for us to meet them now. No doubt they'll have found better company to keep them amused."

"Why did you bring me back here?" d'Artagnan asked, gulping down another mouthful of the bitter wine.

"It was either here or leave you in the street," Athos explained. "Would you rather I'd left you lying in the mud?"

"What do you care?" d'Artagnan scowled.

"I have a weakness when it comes to seeing my friends in need of help," Athos replied sharply.

"We're not-," d'Artagnan began but Athos cut him off.

"The way I see it you have very few people left who do care," He warned him with a shake of his head. "Don't be so keen to make enemies of everyone because you are angry with the world. Believe me, there are better ways to channel that anger than driving away every person who dares get near you."

"I don't need you or your help," d'Artagnan said bitterly, standing and swaying. He paled and swayed on his feet and Athos stepped forward to catch him before he fell, putting an arm around him and holding him close.

"You are a young, stubborn, arrogant fool," Athos said but in a light tone, giving him a smile. "That's one of the things we like about you. You're quick, sharp and have potential to be a great man. So forgive me for showing some concern that you seem so quick to allow bitterness to consume that and turn you into a twisted, tortured soul."

"Why do you care?" d'Artagnan said again with a grimace.

"It's a weakness," Athos grinned. "You should rest."

d'Artagnan shook his head, eyes clouding with something akin to fear. "I don't want to sleep."

"Bad dreams?" Athos surmised knowingly.

"I'm never in time to save him," d'Artagnan whispered quietly. His dark eyes met Athos' and Athos could sympathise. His own demons had plagued him over the years, it had taken drink or pushing himself to pure exhaustion to keep them at bay.

"You never will be," Athos said plainly. Best for the man to hear the truth. "Because you couldn't. You cannot change what happened to your father."

He didn't expect the tears, but his words evidently opened a wound, or perhaps just helped d'Artagnan unburden his troubled soul. D'Artagnan's mouth twisted, his dark brown eyes turning glassy and clouded as he broke down, leaning against him like he needed the anchor. Athos wasn't a man used to such emotional outbursts, but he felt a deep sympathy well up inside and he held him close, allowing d'Artagnan the out pouring of grief he was in need of.

"There now," Athos said eventually when the sobs subsided enough to give d'Artagnan a small shake. "Sit. Have some more wine."

d'Artagnan sat down heavily, gulping down the last of the sour liquid, before rubbing a hand over his face. He looked exhausted and looked grimly up at him.

"I'm sorry," He apologised, looking embarrassed at the outburst.

"Don't be," Athos assured him, sitting down beside him. "Better to get it out now than bury it down. Grief has a way of rearing its head at the worst times if we pretend it doesn't exist. That it doesn't affect us."

d'Artagnan said nothing, turning the goblet over in his hands, slowly, looking pensive. He thumbed his lower lip where it had been cut and had begun to heal over. Athos lifted a hand and ghosted his thumb over the same place.

"Is the pain worth it?" He asked quietly.

D'Artagnan didn't answer right away, pulling his face away with a grimace.

"It's what I deserve," he said after a moments pause.

"What does that mean?" Athos asked with a frown.

"It was my idea to stop at the inn," d'Artagnan admitted, his voice sounded hoarse, like he were fighting back more tears. "If we hadn't stopped there, if we'd continued on – there was an inn not much further along the road. It wouldn't have made a difference considering we'd been riding in the rain so long any way, the horses had strength left in them to get us there. But the idea of getting some rest after the days ride -."

Athos realised not only was d'Artagnan grieving, but he blamed himself for his fathers death. The realisation made him reel. How was he meant to convince the man otherwise?

"It wasn't your fault. You cannot blame yourself," He tried, a weak attempt at best. What was he supposed to say?

"I suggested it," d'Artagnan said loudly, looking at him, pain and grief written all over his face. "I – if we'd just continued riding. Paris will still be there in the morning – that is what I said to him."

"Do not do this to yourself," Athos tried in vain again, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I have tried," d'Artagnan said with a shrug, shaking his head. "I tell myself it was simply fate or his time -."

"Inviting people to hurt and break you will not bring you forgiveness," Athos pointed out to him. "Nor will pushing away those of us who show a little compassion for your situation."

"And I thought you kept me around because I amuse you," d'Artagnan said with a small smile.

"Wrong," Athos grinned with a shake of his head. "That is why we kept Porthos."

"Why do you tolerate me then?" d'Artagnan asked, huffing out a small laugh of amusement.

"You invite trouble," Athos explained. "We like trouble. Keeps us occupied and out of Treville's hair when we have nothing better to do."

"I am sorry," d'Artagnan said soberly.

"So am I," Athos said gently. "About your father. To lose someone you loved in such circumstances-."

"I feel like if I stop or slow down, if I give myself a chance to grieve," d'Artagnan whispered. "I fear I'll not be able to continue on day in, day out."

"Does the fighting help? Inviting people to inflict pain," Athos asked him. "You did nothing to deserve inviting such punishment on yourself."

"He is dead because of me," d'Artagnan said with a grimace.

"No, he is dead because a man struck him down," Athos retorted. "You did what you had to do, you sought out the criminals. Along the way you managed to twist your way into our group. None of us are complaining I should point out."

"I nearly struck you down for the trouble," d'Artagnan reminded him with a small smile.

"Nearly had a sword through your gut," Athos laughed, giving him a shove. "Do you really think you could beat me?"

"Everybody says I'm as good as you with a sword," d'Artagnan kindly reminded him. It was true, he was, he just needed to refine his technique, choose his fights well. He was good with the sword, but he was still relatively young in battle and in need of guidance.

"Let's hope a day never comes when we need to duel," Athos grinned. "We may be there a long time."

d'Artagnan smiled, then grimaced, rubbing at his head again. His jaw ached, his head pounded from Athos' blow.

"You should rest," Athos said, looking at him knowingly.

"Where will you sleep?" d'Artagnan asked, glancing down at the thin frame of the bed they sat on.

"I'll make do," Athos shrugged. "You take the bed. Finish the wine, it will make up for the empty stomach."

"It's a cold night to be sleeping on the floor," d'Artagnan said, grimly looking at the floorboards.

Athos laughed and shrugged again, pouring out the last of the wine, a goblet for himself and topping up d'Artagnan's. 

"I've slept in worse conditions," Athos told him. "It'll be cold in the bed too."

It was true, the blankets did little to keep a person warm but he'd made do. He swallowed down the wine in two gulps, grimacing at it's bitterness. But it warmed him and the effects of it would soon seep into his body.

"If we share the bed, we'd at least get a warm night," d'Artagnan pointed out. There was a look in his eyes, hopefulness and Athos realised that d'Artagnan didn't wish to be left alone, even if they were sharing a room. He set his goblet down and sat down again to remove his boots.

"Very well," Athos agreed. "Finish your wine, take off your boots. I'm not going to undress you and you look ready to pass out again."

d'Artagnan would have made a remark but he felt dizzy, fumbling with buckles as he reached down. It took all his concentration to remove one and he groaned as a wave of dizziness seeped through him. He heard rather than saw Athos sigh, felt himself pulled up and hands pulling at his other boot. It pulled off and he was manhandled to lie down on the bed, rolling onto his side. The press of another body lay against him and he relaxed back against Athos as he settled beside him, pulling the thin blankets over their bodies. The wine helped him drift off to sleep, but not before he silently caught hold of Athos' hand and pulled it around him close. The last person he'd shared a bed with had betrayed him, he'd woken up to a bloody knife in the pillow and the accusation of murderer hounding him. But he trusted Athos, trusted he'd still be there in the morning. Athos relaxed behind him, hot breath hitting off the back of his neck and d'Artagnan let sleep claim him.

~ fin ~


End file.
